


Christmas Spirit

by gingerbred



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Eve, Christmas Fluff, Community: MyWitch25Days, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Hogwarts, Hogwarts Eighth Year, M/M, Post-War, Severus Snape Lives, ss/hg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-26
Updated: 2018-12-26
Packaged: 2019-09-28 01:01:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17172875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gingerbred/pseuds/gingerbred
Summary: How the Bloody Baron spends the first Christmas after the war, getting into the spirit of things...Just a bit of fluff.





	Christmas Spirit

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MyWitch](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MyWitch/gifts), [Grooot](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grooot/gifts).



> Slight warning: One of the characters is an intolerant bellend and uses offensive language. If it helps any, with the way I’m wired, it doesn't end well for him. On the other hand, it's Christmas, so no one gets mangled either. _*nods*_

The Bloody Baron glides down a deserted corridor, by and large appreciating the fact that so many of the castle's usual residents have gone home for the holidays. Not nearly as many as used to, of course. A great many no longer seem to have... homes to return to. (More's the pity. Well, for a variety of reasons, _obviously_.) If there's one thing the centuries have taught him, it's that war has a way of doing that. Even though there were fewer students enrolled this year than ever before, and that includes that horrible last year when the Muggle-born had been... barred (if not to say 'imprisoned'), there are more staying for Christmas than he can recall having ever stayed in the past. 

He's not sure how he... feels about the festivities. 

He's apart, as usual, he always is. Come Christmas, he always feels even more so. There'd _been_ no Christmas in his day, and a millennium later, it still feels... foreign. A _great many_ things hadn't... _been_ in his time. 

He's not a Baron, for one. Titles like those hadn't come till after his... transition to ghosthood. 

He never had a surname, those weren't done till after the Norman conquest either. 

He likes to think he's made every effort to be as... uncomplicated as possible. If the staff and students wished to call him a 'Baron', so be it. He answered. He's always felt 'Alwin' was a perfectly acceptable name, but no matter. Apparently it hadn't appealed to the masses. He thinks someone misunderstood the meaning, 'noble friend', and that's how they arrived at 'Baron', but it's been so long, he hardly recalls. 

Certainly no one else does. 

As he hasn't had friends in nearly as long, the 'Bloody Baron' was all that remained. 

He rather hopes it was... descriptive and not... invective. 

But maybe it doesn't matter...  
  


He doesn't usually notice, but something about the festivities makes him remember that fact. 

That he's alone and has been. 

He ruminates on it as he passes under Magical Mistletoe that has no power over him, continuing further through the castle. 

It's probably watching so many of those celebrating pairing off with one another. 

He's floating along, still trying to decide if it... bothers him, being alone like that, when he encounters the school's Caretaker, making adjustments to a hinge on one of the suits of armour. 

Hmm. 

Mr. Filch. 

Quite possibly the _one_ being as alone in the castle as the Baron is, a squib amongst witches and wizards. 

The Baron watches as as the grizzled man finishes his work, stepping back to admire the armour twisting its head first this way, then that. 

"That you sorted then?" Mr. Filch asks. Gruffly. He doesn't seem to know any other way. 

The statue rewards him with much enthusiastic nodding. The Caretaker _almost_ smiles, until the expression is startled from his face when the armour pulls him in for an unexpected hug. The Baron decides to withdraw and leave them to it. (Argus wouldn't be pleased - in the least - to hear it.)

As the Baron does so, he discovers Peeves, lurking, very quietly cackling, just around the bend. The Baron would think about how the poltergeist is just as alone as the squib and the ghost, and then think that _unlike_ himself and the man, _Peeves_ probably doesn't _care_ , except Peeves doesn't allow him time for the thoughts to properly form. 

Not until later anyway. 

Instead, the pesky poltergeist bobs there with a bucket of muck from Hagrid's Thestral corral that he quite evidently means to throw on the poor Caretaker's clean floors just as he comes round the corner. 

"Peeves!" The Baron hisses and the poltergeist freezes mid chuckle. 

"Your Baronship, Sir?" Peeves enquires obsequiously, pretending he hasn't a clue what the Baron might want, and that there isn't a very full and fetid pail held high above his head. He lowers it now, shifting it behind his back, as if that might help it to go retroactively unnoticed. Peeves isn't the brightest of beings in the castle. 

Sadly, he's also not the dimmest. 

Some are actually worse. 

"Leave the man in peace." The ghost hisses, and the poltergeist appears instantly disappointed. "It's Christmas." Peeves doesn't seem convinced by that argument. Fair enough; he probably has as much to associate with the holiday as the ghost does. Bugger all. Still. The Baron goes opaque to emphasise his point. "If you... trouble him, you'll have trouble with _me_." 

That quite naturally does the trick. 

But as a sign that he very much means what he says, the ghost floats there, rising and falling as on the draughts he no longer feels, waiting for the poltergeist to withdraw. 

Only once he's left does the Baron continue his rounds of the castle.  
  


Next he spots 'the Chosen One', who by the look of things has himself finally chosen... someone. This is... good. It's been... a long time coming. Possibly all term. Perhaps longer. The Baron had rather wondered if they'd ever... act on the obvious attraction. He'd guessed it years ago. He wonders who would believe him were he now to say so. 

Or to whom he might say it. 

Invariably if he tries, they'll say it was patently obvious anyway. Perhaps it was. Maybe the ghost is the last to know. It's happened before. 

But not so very often. 

He watches Potter, holding hands and blushing head to toe, sneak into the newly restored Come and Go Room, and decides to grant the young man some privacy. He certainly deserves a spot of joy.  
  


And on the Baron flits, through deserted corridors and classrooms.  
  


In time he comes across Miss Granger, a book dangling neglected in her hands, sitting on a window seat, staring out the window at the snow covered Scottish landscape, pining. There's been much of that on her part since the war. 

His understanding, the elves _do_ go on, was that after the object her affection lost his brother in the war, things had come to a... standstill between them. Opinions differ, greatly, as to why the lass might still be pining, or if she should be (as if the question were relevant or appropriate, the mores of the present never cease to flummox), and they're even more divisive about the lad and his methods of... coping with the loss. The Baron thinks most of the castle has the wrong end of the wand, but again, whom would he tell?  
  


The Baron shifts a few floors lower, and down yet another empty corridor. 

Ah. Speaking of. 

Not _quite_ empty, for there's the boy in question. 

The redhead's got the blonde Gryffindor in tow, both of them giggling up the proverbial storm. 

"So why did you stay, Won Won? Was it just to be with me?" She coos in a perfectly insipid fashion. The ghost can't help thinking when the werewolf attacked her, she must've taken a blow to the head. 

Or several. 

"Nnnnmm..." The boy begins to answer, when to his credit, he seems to realise his answer wasn't... optimal. He regroups. "Mmhmm. That's a definitely an advantage, Lav, getting to spend the hols with you. I was lucky you could change your plans on such short notice." 

She simpers in reply and he pulls her to a stop and begins nibbling at her collarbone, working his hand into her robes as he does so in a way better reserved for alcoves than hallways. "But mum and dad went to visit Charlie."

She looks up at that, beginning to wonder, as she probably should, that he simply hadn't had any other options. "But I thought they'd intended to stay here? You _told_ me so." She pulls back, and he's forced to end his assault on her clavicle. "That's why you were going home, after all." A moment later, she's batted off his hand and drawn her robes to. His charm offensive arrested, the witch still staring at him waiting for an answer, he feels pressed to provide one. 

"Well, mum didn't take it well when she found out Charlie was a poofter, yeah?" Ron waits a beat for the correction that inevitably comes when Hermione hears him use the word, but Lav's not like that. He relaxes. That's part of what he likes about her. The full breast that was beneath his hand but a moment ago, obviously, was another of her admirable attributes. Both her possession of such a fine pair of baps, and her willingness to let him explore them. 

Usually, anyway. 

He's working on it. 

"She carried on a bit about his never providing her with grandchildren, and then he pointed out they certainly _could_ , and then she said something about how adopting war orphans wasn't at all the same, it wouldn't be as if they were her _own_. And then Charlie refused to talk to her anymore.

"Dad sent I don't know how many owls getting things back on track, and it was decided, y'know, spur of the moment like, that they should get a Portkey and spend some time getting to know Langosh over Christmas. Prove they were being supportive, right? So that's where they are now."

"Langosh? That's his fiancé?" 

"I wouldn't call him his fiancé..."

"But you told me a fortnight ago that Charlie was getting married..." Ron shrugs, and Lav repeats her question, "So his name is Langosh?"

Ron shrugs again, "I don't think so. I thought that was just what Charlie calls him? But by this point no one wants to point out to mum it basically means 'dumpling' or something. Well, if you take it sweet like Charlie does. Savoury, it's something else I suppose..." Thoughts of fried potato dough soon distract him from those uncomfortable facts of Charlie's sex life that Ron greatly prefers to avoid. 

A _poofter_. In _their_ family. He's sure he doesn't know _what_ to say. 

"So you stayed here because you had nowhere else to go?" Lav's brighter than most think. 

"Don't be silly, Lav. I could have gone with them," if he had the Galleons for a Portkey, "but I chose to stay with you." It's not like he was eager to meet the Hungarian dragonkeeper anyway. 

She thaws. A little. "And does Hermione know that?" Sometimes she has to wonder if she's just his bit on the side. They've been keeping things very low key, all hush hush. He insists it's so as not to upset Ginny, what with the loss of their brother Fred after all. But sometimes Lav wonders. 

Ron leans in to nibble at her throat again, and Lav forgets her question for the moment. Won Won is frightfully good at that, really. "Why on earth are you thinking of Hermione at a time like this?" He asks, groping her once again. 

The Baron supposes he's seen worse. 

There's a noise from down the hallway that again puts a stop to things, and the redhead grasps the girl's hand, "Come on. Let's go."

The ghost is a little surprised when they head _towards_ the noise, however. 

The pair comes to a halt at the next corner, watching something intently, just out of view. Curiosity gets the best of the Baron as he invisibly watches them. He's about to cross through the walls to see what's caught their attention when the youngest Weasley boy draws something from his pocket. With a loud 'BANG', he unleashes it, and the hallway before him is completely covered in an explosion of dirt. Ceiling to floor, not a surface left unsullied, and the torrent of curses, purely figurative, that follows makes it clear the Caretaker had been caught in the midst of it. 

Hmm.

It would appear Peeves wasn't the only mischiefmaker in the castle. 

That realisation isn't exactly a surprise. 

And there stands the squib, as solitary as the Baron, and now dirty and incensed to boot. 

The Baron watches the children run off as Filch's unending stream of swears follows after them, until they're finally drowned out by the Gryffindors' laughter. The Baron glides closer, staying there for a moment watching the Squib as he surveys the mess. 

Increasingly, the man seems to be succumbing to panic, his head swivelling side to side, desperately seeking... something. A low and miserable 'mrooowr' escapes from behind one of the suits of armour and the man hastens to investigate, bending to clasp his cat in his arms. "Tell me they didn't get you, too, luv! Are you alright, my dear?" 

The cat, only slightly dirty, meows once again in reply, and he kisses her furry head as he clutches her to his chest. The fact this renders her dirtier than she was before doesn't seem to bother man or beast. She purrs as she snuggles herself deeper into his embrace. 

The Baron watches them standing there, revising his opinion as to just how alone the Caretaker is. 

He clearly is not.  
  


When the squib finally begins to survey the corridor more calmly, he gives a resigned sigh and comments to the cat, "We've seen worse, haven't we, luv? We'll manage this, too." 

At this the Baron fades into view, "Mr. Filch, would you mind waiting a moment while I see if I can find someone to assist you with this?"

Argus startles as the Baron appears out of thin air before him, it's something he thinks he'll never get used to, and most oddly, he hadn't heard the ghost coming. "Why no, if you think you can? At this hour on Christmas Eve?"

"I'll only be a moment," he assures Mr. Filch and then heads for where he'd last seen the Headmistress.  
  


Minerva, naturally, is happy to lend a wand and soon has hallway, man and feline pristine. It helps his humour, a little, but not so much that he doesn't complain to her about her students. 

"They're no longer 'mine', Argus. Or no more so than the rest."

"Ever since Longbottom became Head of House, they've been running amok," he laments, not unfairly. 

"Neville is new to the position, and he has to learn his way, Argus, as did we all in our time. He's doing what he can. Merlin, he hasn't even finished his mastery yet."

"Barely started, more like," the caretaker grumbles, again with some accuracy. 

"Well, you can see where it might prove... challenging for him to manage his erstwhile classmates, can't you?"

"All the more reason not to have installed him in the position, at least not until he'd finished his apprenticeship and that lot had graduated. Weasley..."

"Is having a difficult time of it. The death of his brother... It's not an easy thing to come to grips with."

"And yet you don't see his sister doing things like this." Honestly, precious little of her is seen at all these days. Not that Argus is complaining. The _last_ thing he needs is _two_ Weasleys running wild in the castle. It'd would be too much like the heyday of their brothers, back when they'd... 

Well. 

Yes. 

Back then. 

"Did you see him doing it this time?" Minerva asks. 

"No," he admits, beginning to grow sour. The question is ridiculous. She has ways of finding out if Weasley had done it or not. Perhaps not like the previous two Headmasters, but she could always fetch Snape from his hideyhole in the dungeons and _he'd_ learn the truth in moments. Or ask the portraits. Or use that Veritaserum stuff, why doesn't she? 

He might have suggested some or all of that out loud, because she answers him, "Now, now, Argus. We don't use that on students. You _know_ it's forbidden." As if that addressed his other concerns. 

For a moment, very briefly, he sort of wishes Umbridge were back at the helm.

He _knows_ it's rubbish, but still... 

"Longbottom isn't up to the job, or you should never have allowed the eighth years back. They need _limits_ , Headmistress, I've said that all along."

"Most of them are just fine, Argus. And it's not like I could have continued as Head of House and performed the Headmistress duties at the same time, and we simply had no one else I'd have trusted with the task. Give Neville time, and I'm sure he'll get the hang of things. In the meantime, if you have problems like this, come to me and I'll sort them."

"It isn't enough to not do the clean up work, Professor! They nearly got Mrs. Norris this time! They deserve to be punished!"

"But Argus, it's Christmas..."

"All the more reason _they_ shouldn't _behave_ that way! And if they insist on doing so, behaving like animals, they should be _treated_ as such. Give them to Hagrid to work. I've had more than enough of the blighters."

"I'll have a word with Mr. Weasley. If he was behind this, he will apologise and assist Hagrid all Boxing Day. Is that acceptable?"

Frankly, it's better than anything Longbottom had managed all term. 

Assuming the Headmistress doesn't allow the Weasley boy to pull the wool over her eyes, this is the best offer he's likely to get. A bit stubbornly, he nevertheless nods, and Minerva smiles. She reaches in her pocket and withdraws a handkerchief, waves her wand and Transfigures it into a cat toy. She presents it to a visibly thrilled Mrs. Norris who instantly pounces upon it. "I thought she'd like that. I'm rather fond of that toy myself," she explains. With a smirk, she adds, "And I'm not easily fooled, Argus, I assure you." 

For a moment, forgetting the witch isn't a Legilimens, he's reminded of the days when Professor Snape was Headmaster.

They'd tried to convince the man to stay on in the position after the war, but he hadn't the stomach, either for the job _or_ the inevitable backlash. But he hadn't been spared the backlash just because he abdicated the position. Minerva had finally convinced him to remain at school, it was safer by far for him there, appointed him Deputy Headmaster and was doing her best to see him rehabilitated in the eyes of the wizarding world. 

They probably had a ways before them yet. 

Left to his own devices, the Potions Master spends much of his time... hiding in the dungeons.  
  


Minerva watches Argus disappear down a corridor, his trusty cat trotting rather smugly behind him, proudly carrying her new toy in her mouth. 

The Headmistress sighs heavily. 

Argus isn't wrong, which of course is a good part of the problem she's facing. 

Miss Granger had made every effort to convince her friends to return to the school with her for their final year. It hadn't quite been enough. 

Then Minerva herself had (somewhat unwisely, she now feels) pointed out that they'd had no less than four Ministers for Magic just in the time since the incoming eighth year class had been students. There was no guarantee that whoever came after Kingsley would honour his offer to allow the boys to become Aurors without the proper qualifications. Realistically, Kingsley hadn't even been formally elected. If one were being perfectly honest, the Order had effectively pulled off a coup. It was possible, highly likely even, that the general wizarding population might object and oust him from the position at any moment, and there's no telling where the boys would have been then. 

It appeared reasonable enough, and they'd soon followed her advice, although in retrospect Minerva thinks they'd all just been scared to let go of the known. Hogwarts had promised to be a sort of protective nest for them to recover and lick their wounds from the war, and at least in theory, it had all sounded rather good. 

In reality, it had been nothing but trouble from the outset. 

The seventh years, quite reasonably, hadn't appreciated the eighth years usurping their hard earned positions. Miss Wilkins hadn't enjoyed yielding the Head Girl title to Miss Granger one bit. Beater Ritchie Coote hadn't liked being demoted from team captain so Mr. Potter could resume his duties. And Keeper Jack Sloper made it abundantly clear he hadn't welcomed relinquishing his spot on the team _altogether_ when Mr. Weasley had reclaimed his position. It was his last year, Mr. Sloper had objected. If not now, when _would_ he make the team? It would have been easier to stomach had it simply been a question of talent, but he frankly hadn't had a chance against popular opinion and a 'returning war hero'...

There were now _eight_ surplus Prefects, which had caused issues with the rotas, and _that_ for fewer than usual students. Objections had been raised that the students felt 'over-policed'. After the last year, that carried very uncomfortable connotations. 

Miss Granger, for her part, had been bored to tears nearly from day one, she and Mr. Potter both proving far too restless after their year on the run to yield to the reglemented life at school. Miss Granger had gone so far as coming to Minerva not even a month into the term, _begging_ to be permitted to take her N.E.W.T.s early. Where at the beginning of term she had insisted she wasn't sufficiently prepared to take them and at a serious disadvantage compared to the other students, she now realised she couldn't stand being a 'student' for another minute longer than necessary and had finished the last of her examinations only a week prior. So strangely, with Kingsley still Minister, they'd easily been able to find official invigilators for the young war hero out of turn. 

Mr. Potter, equally uneasy at heart, also hasn't seemed to find his way. Disappointingly, he can't seem to interest himself much for Quidditch, either, and had seemed as disappointed to resume the mantle of team captain as Mr. Coote had been to relinquish it. Mr. Potter's situation with Miss Weasley seems to have been much like Miss Granger's with the girl's brother. In the aftermath of such a terrible familial loss, romance simply hadn't bloomed. Minerva is certain the ensuing awkwardness contributes greatly to the students' obvious eagerness to reach the end of their studies. 

Although... 

Miss Granger _could_ have gone elsewhere for her mastery. Instead she'd made arrangements to study with Minerva and their current Transfiguration Professor, with the quietly understood hope of replacing him in three years time on staff. Had she truly wished to leave the school, she could easily have done so now. 

But perhaps she feels as an apprentice she'll enjoy more freedoms. 

Minerva resolves to invite the young woman round for tea in the new year to discuss her visions for the future. She probably should have done so before now, mentored her more... But Miss Granger is so self-reliant, it's easy to think it might not be necessary, and so many other things have warred for Minerva's attention during the reconstruction phase...

She pulls the Headmstrs' Enchanted Map from her robes and with a gentle tap of her wand, it unfolds to reveal the students', pets' and poltergeist's locations. Miss Granger, still on the Headmistress' mind, is no longer visible. A second tap of Minerva's wand, coupled with the proper intent, as a nod to privacy, would show staff, ghosts and guests to the castle, but Minerva decides the invitation can wait. 

A couple others have gone missing, Unplottable, but as they weren't presently on her mind, Minerva neglects to notice. 

Next she seeks out the purpose for drawing the map, only to tut with disappointment as she discovers Mr. Weasley with Miss Brown in an alcove on the seventh floor. 

Her brow furrows and she tuts again before Disenchanting the Map, and it folds itself together once more. 

The Baron had braced himself to disappear through the floor should she have moved her wand again (most forget that he has that capability, and the location would have appeared... innocent enough) only relaxing as she didn't and peering over her shoulder at the Map. He's able to find what he needs even before she does, and flits off down the corridor as the Headmistress heads for her office.  
  


The Baron hasn't... questioned his state of being much. Not for... not for a very, _very_ long time now. He doesn't suppose he particularly _minds_ being a ghost, not in general, and he'd never argue it's an undeserved fate, but he acknowledges there are... disadvantages. He shouldn't like to be seen to be complaining, not at all, but _objectively_ , there are... limitations to his current form. 

He's not without... recourse, however. 

He soon corners Peeves, lurking in a corridor and hoping to waylay a few students with bunches of Magical Mistletoe he's gathered. 

The poltergeist seems less than pleased to see the ghost. 

"I have a undertaking for you." The Baron whispers. The poltergeist immediately looks nervous. "I believe it will... appeal to you."

That certainly grabs Peeves' attention. Rarely does anyone suggest _anything_ that might appeal to him. He's accepted their interests and tastes largely diverge. "Do tell, your Bloodiness, Sir. I'm all ears." To emphasise the point, all of him disappears but his ears. It was amusing the first time he'd done it three centuries ago; it's lost some of its appeal since. Admittedly, it had been a new turn of phrase at the time. 

Peeves prides himself on remaining au courant.

The mission is easily outlined, their meeting point arranged, the plan of attack detailed. 

"Will a half an hour be adequate?" The Baron enquiries. 

The poltergeist boasts he requires but half the time. 

"Nevertheless... Perhaps it's best to allow a little extra time to be sure."

Peeves looks a bit insulted, but the plan appeals to him enough that he doesn't remain put out for long. Instead he turns and heads for the Gryffindor tower. 

The Baron, makes his way slowly towards the caretaker's rooms, biding his time until a quarter of an hour has passed. 

He can't knock, not that that presents a problem for him.

Argus might see that differently. 

The Baron simply drifts through the door, rattling his chains in warning as he passes through the heavy wood, startling human and feline alike. 

The feline, naturally, is the first of the two to recover. 

"My apologies, Mr. Filch," the ghost begins in his customary low whisper, "but I have overheard some students. Plotting. I'm afraid I'm unable to interfere," he lifts his phantom chains, and for a moment Argus thinks he means _they'll_ keep him from acting, before he recollects the Baron's merely an apparition. "But if you'll accompany me, perhaps we can put a stop to their... shenanigans."

Argus reaches for his coat. "Lead the way," he replies simply. 

The Baron isn't precisely known for being a chatty fellow, and the squib doesn't think twice when he says nothing further, simply turning and leaving, much as he'd arrived. Argus obviously has to pause to open doors and is slightly slower, but the ghost is waiting for him when he enters the corridor. He follows the Slytherin House ghost to the seventh, leaping disappearing steps, hopping onto shifting staircases and hurrying to keep up. Only when they're just around the corner from the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy endeavouring to bring culture to trolls - unsuccessfully - does the ghost come to a stop. Argus catches up, winded and wringing for breath. 

"If you would wait once more, I will see if the coast is clear." 

Argus couldn't be happier than to wait. It's apparently far easier for a ghost to race through the hallways, and he's beginning to feel his years. He nods, bending over almost double, resting his hands on his knees, and waves the ghost ahead. 

The Baron has an alcove further down the corridor to check, which he does, and a poltergeist to find right after. Peeves is waiting as arranged and at the Baron's command, removes his hat to reveal a vast assortment of Weasleys' Wildfire Whiz-bangs, the Deflagration Deluxe package, impounded from the trunk of the youngest Mr. Weasley. One after the next, he lights them from a nearby sconce and throws them down the corridor until they land right across from the tapestry. 

The first explodes on cue as the remaining fuses burn down. 

The 'BANG' is more than sufficient to cause a door to appear in the wall, and Mr. Potter emerges, unfortunately for him just as Mr. Filch rounds the corner and for exactly the same reason, to investigate the noise. 

"Potter!" He screams. "I've got you now! Even the Headmistress won't be able to make excuses for you after this."

Harry, having been woken by the first bang and still a little sleep addled is every bit as surprised by the caretaker as the second 'BANG' that follows. He swivels towards it, sees the hallway full of the flickering of lit and rapidly shrinking fuses now precariously surrounding the squib, and casts an Evanesco to Vanish the things. 

It wasn't just _poorly_ considered, it wasn't considered _at all_. 

Predictably the explosions that follow are multiplied tenfold, and Harry only just manages to slash his wand downward and cast the Protego that will shield himself and the Caretaker from the worst of it. Still, their flanks are exposed, and the men are force to dive for cover, Harry struggling to maintain the spell as they go. He casts again, this time a Silencing Charm across the Shield in front of them, half surprised when it works to cut out the worst of the noise, and the two lean there panting against the wall. 

It was certainly a rude awakening. 

It's made ruder when Filch begins berating him and all the other students, Gryffindors in particular, for whom Harry is evidently to serve as the proxy. 

Filch's tirade is ongoing as others begin to appear on the scene. Hell, it's barely started. First Ron, then Lav. Hermione, and then Draco. Flitwick and then Sprout. Even Snape seems to have been fetched from his solitary dungeons by the noise. A small knot of Slytherins appear shortly after. It would seem no corner of the castle hadn't heard the commotion.

More and more people keep filing in, a fair number making an honest effort to stem the wave of fireworks rocketing down the hallways, unfortunately every Evanesco only makes matters worse. 

"No! Stop!" Hermione shouts, recognising the fairly unmistakable display. These are clearly George's work. "No Vanishing Charms! _Please_!"

"No Stupefies either!" Ginny shouts, appearing beside her and trying to stop the army of fire ants marching towards them. Neville and Draco line up beside the witches and begin casting a slew of Charms to end the burst of sparkling profanity that's causing a number of the younger children to titter. 

"I didn't even know _that_ was a thing," one third year giggles at another. 

"Neither did I, but I plan on looking that one up later." That's greeted with customary speculation that he couldn't find his way to the library if he tried, and wouldn't be able to read even if he did so. 

A fire salamander collides with a red and gold catherine wheel and a serpent of fire emerges rapidly snaking its way towards a pocket of younger Slytherins. Severus jumps in front of them, and Hermione screams again, desperate to be heard, "No Evanescos!" 

He merely waves his wand and the thing is gone. "I heard you the first time, but I appreciate the warning." He's had quite enough of snakes. The colouring only adds insult to injury. 

"What did you do?" Neville asks his colleague, forgetting to be nervous in the heat of the moment as he continues to cast spells dousing the manifold fire creatures successively. 

"Banishing, you'll find, works perfectly." Severus replies. Another wave of his wand, and the sound is almost muffled. "Directly to the Black Lake seemed... prudent." And soon the rest are following his lead. 

Minerva has arrived, assessed the situation and with an elaborate loop and a flick of her wand, the stones in the wall at the end of the corridor fold back until a great opening gapes before them. The three senior Heads of House immediately cast a variety of spells, according to their natures, that flush, shovel and gust the Whiz-bangs through the opening, which Minerva rushes to close behind them. 

"What on earth happened here!" She demands, staring from one to the next. 

Argus loses no time in blaming Potter, the first on the scene. 

Minerva puts up a hand to interrupt him, "Mr. Potter? What were you doing here?"

Harry tousles his hair uncomfortably, shifting from one foot to the other, "I'm afraid I can't say, Professor..."

"There you have it, Headmistress! I want the guilty party expelled. They've gone too far this time."

Hermione pushes her way forward, "It wasn't Harry," she announces quietly. "I did it. I guess I got carried away celebrating the end of my exams."

"'Mione! Don't!" Harry shouts, but without even looking his way, the Headmistress casts a charm and he's unable to utter another word. Not that it keeps him from trying, bless. Ron quickly moves to hold him back. If 'Mione is trying to take the fall for him, there's no sense Harry ruining her effort and landing them both in it. And she already has her degree, doesn't she?

"Miss Granger," Minerva looks and sounds shocked, less at the notion the young woman could do such a thing (which she doesn't believe for an instant) than that she'd so readily risk her apprenticeship to protect her friend. Of course, that shouldn't come as much of a surprise after everything they'd been through together the year before. "You are aware what's at stake?"

The Baron glides over their heads coming to land next to the Headmistress. He can't quite make the descent without passing through a few of the onlookers, and Ron shivers and then groans at the sensation of ice in his veins as the ghost shifts through him. 

"Might I suggest having Professor Snape check the... veracity of that claim." The Baron whispers as he bobs up and down and then adds, "In light of what's at stake." 

As that had been precisely her concern, Minerva nods her agreement, turning to her Deputy Headmaster, "Severus, would you please do the honours?" 

All heads turn expectantly towards the Slytherin, but he astonishes them all with a surprisingly petulant sounding, "No." 

"Severus..."

" _No_ , Minerva. I told you when I agreed to stay on that I wouldn't use it on a student. I meant it." He had, in fact, had a rather lengthy, and largely unnecessary, list of things he wouldn't do, most of which Minerva would never have dreamt of requiring of him. Legilimency had been only one of those things. In truth, that particular stipulation might have been more about his fear of learning just what the students thought of him after last year. 

He has no desire to ever know. 

His body tenses, looking as if he expects a blow, and he does. He's waiting for the mocking laughter, the outraged objections, the protestations that he'd had no such compunctions last year, and he's _furious_ with Minerva for raising this issue in front of so many witnesses, so many students, so many of his victims...

But it doesn't come. 

Not a one says a _thing_. 

There's not a single voice decrying him as a liar and hypocrite. 

When the remonstrations don't come, his shoulders slowly unhunch. 

"Then that should suit our needs nicely, as Miss Granger isn't a student any more. Severus, please." 

He _hates_ those words. 

He could live happily to the end of his days, never hearing them again. 

Well, perhaps not _happily_. 

Half automatically he moves in front of the young woman, wand in hand. 

Hermione has gone rather pale. "I can't Occlude," she objects quietly. 

"I believe that's rather the point, Miss Granger," Severus tells her, clearly resigned, looking far from at ease and wishing he'd just faked it for both their sakes. She didn't deserve to lose her chance at the apprenticeship even if she _had_ been involved. Everyone was rather tightly wound after the war. For Merlin's sake, they'd given _him_ another chance. He has little desire to be drawn into a literal witch hunt. 

"You don't understand, Sir. I'm... 

"I'm very sorry for what you'll see," her voice goes so low, it's almost a whisper at the end there, fainter than the Baron's by far. 

Severus thinks he half imagined the apology.

But not enough so that he doesn't begin to anticipate the worst. While he'd prefer to avoid using Legilimency on her, when called upon, he isn't a coward. He _does_ hate Minerva just that little bit more, however, for demanding this. This wasn't fair. Not to either of them. He meets Miss Granger's gaze, looking deep into her chocolate brown eyes, flecked with bits of gold like some absurdly posh confection. 

"Legilimens," he says.

In for a Knut, in for a Galleon; she's holding nothing back. 

He's soon inundated by her thoughts.

A veritable tsunami of thoughts in which he features rather prominently. Him, and the impossibility of him, given their relative positions, and so much more. The impossibility of _anything_ given Weasley and the guilt over Fred Weasley's death. For having survived. A sense of not being entitled to move on... 

And he'd rather not have seen any of it, but it's the images, the thoughts of _him_ that give him pause for a moment. Because in not _one_ of them is he a Death Eater, tormenting his pupils. Not once is he an avatar of fear, terror incarnate. No... 

No. This is something quite different. 

Thoroughly discomfited, he ends it almost as quickly as he began, although he'll have difficulty explaining to himself why he'd looked as long as he had. 

Or rather, he'll _know_ why, and wish it weren't the case. 

Hermione flinches, mortified, desperately wishing she were invisible. She stands there waiting for him to tell all assembled about her thoughts, or perhaps just ridicule her for her crush. 

Instead he surprises her. 

"She didn't do it," he says simply, avoiding everyone's gaze. 

Truthfully, he hadn't even checked. Still, he's certain nevertheless, and would have said it either way. 

"Well, Mr. Potter," Minerva redirects her attention towards the young man and lifts the Charm silencing him, "it would seem your friend wanted to protect you. Do you think you could now be prevailed upon to finally do the right thing and tell us just what you were doing here?"

"I'm very sorry..."

"Hmm?"

"I _can't_ , Professor..." Harry begins, but he's interrupted. 

"He couldn't have done it. He was with me in the Room of Requirement." Draco muscles his way through the others until he's standing next to Harry. Ron, on Harry's other side, shrinks back as though hit by a Stinging Jinx. 

"Come and Go, more like," Pansy quips. 

"Except he didn't _go_." Draco is emphatic and Weasley chokes. "And he _certainly_ didn't set off any fireworks. At least not out here," he finishes more softly, the look decidedly fond. 

Harry's, "Draco, no..." coincides with Ron's "Whaddaya mean he was 'with you'?"

Draco squares his shoulders as he faces Ron, " _Exactly_ what you're _worried_ it means." He twines his fingers through Harry's and all the tension leaves Harry's body. Anyone who'd been less than clear on what Malfoy might have meant finally gets it when they see the sappy look Potter gives him. 

Smitten. Completely smitten. 

"Harry! You can't be _bent_! And what about Ginny?" Ron cries.

"You be quiet, Ronald! _Right_ now!" Hermione yells, wand in hand. Lav's hands go up instinctively to protect against the swarm of angry birds she's sure will follow. _Definitely_ brighter than most take her for. 

"What _about_ Ginny?" Ginny asks, stepping forward. 

"Well, I mean, you and him..." Ron shrugs. 

Ginny reaches back and grabs Neville's hand, tugging him towards her through the small group crowded round. "Harry and I aren't an item and haven't been for a very long time." She kisses the budding Herbologist's hand as she interleaves her fingers with his. 

"But how can you..." Ron begins to sputter, gesturing between Harry and Neville, and Hermione has had enough. 

" _You're_ one to talk, Ronald. That's Demelza's lippy on your collar, isn't it?" 

Lav makes a high, squealing sound like one of the firecrackers, because Hermione is right. _Naturally_. She usually is. 

"But Harry, you _can't_ be a poof. There was Cho and..."

"Ronald, shut your mouth _this instant_ or so help me. Why do you think they've kept it hidden all this time?" Hermione is seconds away from avian deployment. 

"Bloody hell..." 

Ron's still trying to select from a great variety of perfectly reasonable... well, _reasons_ for, y'know, not admitting to _buggery_ , for fuck's sake, never mind _resorting_ to it, when the Baron speaks up again. 

Well, whispers... 

"Headmistress, I believe this may be... relevant." He extends a ghostly arm, pointing one spectral finger accusingly at a small pile down the corridor, calling her attention to some paper wrappings, that have somehow - _magically_ \- survived the conflagration from moments ago. 

Minerva extends a hand and has the paper in her grasp a moment later. She straightens it very deliberately to read, "'Weasleys' Wildfire Whiz-bangs'..."

"Those could've belonged to anyone..." Ron starts, not the least suspiciously, suddenly with more pressing problems than Harry's sexual orientation, because he recognises those wrappings only too well, and to the best of his knowledge, they haven't hit the open market yet... 

Minerva continues reading the back of the attached card. "'Ron, this is the new line. Be sure to let me know what you think. George.'" 

Draco, a little smugly, hisses, "Be sure to tell him 'bellend' is one word."

"I don't believe there's anyone else here by that name, Mr. Weasley. They _must_ have been yours." Minerva sounds quite definite. 

"But I _couldn't_ have done it," Ron whinges. "Tell them, Lav."

"I have no idea what you're talking about, Ron," she replies coolly. "Maybe you should ask _Demelza_."

Ron's beginning to get that the witches aren't going to be of much help here. "But _anyone_ could have taken them from my room..."

"Anyone from your _House_ , you mean. Was there someone... specific you had in mind, Mr. Weasley?" Snape is quick to pounce on the implication. 

"That's dirty pool, Ron. Don't you _dare_ try to shift the blame onto anyone else," Neville objects. 

"Neville, I believe he's your responsibility. Or is your relationship with Miss Weasley going to present a problem?" Minerva asks her youngest member of staff. 

Neville looks at Ginny who shakes her head encouragingly and gives his hand a squeeze. "No, Professor. It won't. Twenty points, Ron, and detention every Friday and Saturday evening for the rest of the year." Snape's brow twitches, the only sign he's secretly impressed. With _Longbottom_ no less. 

"Are you _kidding_ me, Neville?" Ron wails. 

"I can always add Sundays, too, if you're unsure, but I'd have thought two evenings a week were enough."

"But Headmistress, I thought _expulsion_..." Argus objects. 

"This close to graduation, I think we can see our way clear to avoid such a severe punishment. But I'd agree it might be inappropriate to have him continue on the team. Mr. Weasley, much as it pains me, you're banned from Quidditch for the rest of the year."

Ron begins to fume, but Dean takes his arm, pulling him back from the group. "Don't make it worse, mate. We don't deserve to lose more points for this, too. Come on."

As Ron's led off, Harry whispers to Draco, "Don't you dare gloat." 

The blond eighth year merely turns his head to catch his lover's lips in a protracted snog. 

"Gloat about what?" He asks when they finally come up for air. "It's already completely slipped my mind."

Harry tugs him away from the group, wrapping his arm around him, "I thought you weren't ready for the publicity of coming out as my boyfriend?"

Draco lifts one shoulder in feigned nonchalance, replying, "It's preferable to trying to arrange to see you once you'd been expelled." He gives Harry a squeeze in return, "We'll figure this out together and it will be fine." Harry looks uncertain, and Draco corrects that, "It will be _worth_ it," before stealing a peck. That's probably the moment Harry decides he's going to marry the Snake some day, but they have time, all the time in the world, and he plans to enjoy every minute of it.  
  


The Baron sets off to find Peeves. There's one more matter they need to sort.  
  


Neville clears his throat, and then speaks up, "Prof... Minerva, I wanted to speak to you about ensuring that the proper protections are in place with regards to Ginny, Miss Weasley, that is. She's not one of my students, but she _is_ still in my House, and..." The Headmistress nods. This is hardly the first time something like this has happened, they're both of age, and frankly it eases her mind somewhat that he isn't even a member of faculty yet. It complicates things somewhat when an instructor and student are involved. 

"Come see me in the morning, Neville, and we'll get that sorted." Ginny and Neville leave, still tightly holding one another's hands, smiling openly at one another for the first time all term. 

Minerva addresses those gathered there, "Well, that's settled. Unless you'd care to help with the cleaning effort, I suggest getting back to your rooms." Pomona and Filius immediately volunteer to see to the corridor, and Minerva excuses the rest.

Severus, whose House has the largest group of students present over the holidays, gathers what's left of his flock and begins to escort them back to the dungeons. If he seems a little distracted as he does so, he probably has good reason. 

"Are you sure you can't use an extra wand?" Hermione offers, still trying to avoid looking in the direction of Professor Snape. Minerva thanks her and is just explaining that Filius is more than up to the task when they hear a loud curse from down the corridor. The two witches charge, wands in hand, in that direction. 

There they find Severus, trapped beneath a sprig of Magical Mistletoe, now muttering to beat the band. "Merlin's blighted, bloated, blazingly blue..."

Hermione looks at the knot of Snakes and Professor McGonagall, and then without further hesitation, she steps into the Mistletoe trap. 

"Ready when you are, Sir."

"It wasn't necessary, Miss Granger."

"Well, I shouldn't like to see you stuck here," she replies, her nerves apparent. She doesn't move, allowing him to decide what he's comfortable with. Merlin knows, he's now all too aware of her intentions in the matter. 

"I don't..." he appears uncertain. 

"Not a student any longer, if that helps things any?" She leans in just a little closer. There's something so hopeful in her voice, it overrides the fear he can quite plainly see there. It has him bending towards her, just a little. "In roughly twelve hours it will release us, but if you don't want to be stuck here all night..." The offer is plain. Although it had been, really, when she'd stepped into the Mistletoe. 

The idea of spending the next twelve hours so close to her makes the solution all the easier. He lowers his head further until his lips brush hers. She expects him to put an end to it then, but he surprises her by wrapping an arm around her and adding a little more pressure to the kiss. She smiles against his lips and kisses him back and before long his other hand is weaving its way through her wild mane, pulling her closer to him, as she likewise wraps her arms about him. 

Neither seems to notice that the trap has long since opened. 

Minerva moves past them, her arms wide and acting as a sort of living barrier. Speaking to the stunned students standing around in the corridor, she tells them, "Well, I'm sure you can find your own way to the dungeons. The location hasn't changed." She waits until they've left, and still without turning, addresses the couple behind her, "You two might wish to find a more suitable location to continue your discussion."

"Yes," Hermione replies. It's a very breathy reply at that. 

Tentatively, Severus takes her hand, equally tentatively, but encouragingly, she threads her fingers between his. "Sound idea, Minerva. I'll see you in the morning," he responds. 

"There's no rush, Severus. It is the holidays after all. There's no need to be at meals punctually. Or at all." She can't quite help herself. 

"Minerva..." he begins to object. 

"Thank you for the offer, Professor. We may take you up on it," Hermione heads him off before he makes a hash of it. 

"Good night, Hermione," Minerva replies with a small smile. "Severus."

"You don't think you're being a little presumptuous, Miss Granger?" he can't resist asking her, still not entirely certain about this and more than a little thrown by the growing warmth in her eyes. There's a very good possibility they'll be stuck in the same castle as colleagues for the next three years at least... "This could be highly imprudent." 

"Nonsense, Severus. I'm simply keeping our options open. Perhaps I'll wish to join you in chambers tomorrow morning for breakfast, say."

It's the sound of his name. Her lack of hesitation. Now and as she'd stepped into the Mistletoe trap. It melts him, more than a little. "You're assuming I'll be willing to let you go before then," he drawls with just the hint of a growl, staring in fascination at the hollow of her throat as he watches her swallow in response. As he says it, he tells himself he's only trying to provoke her, and maybe he had been, but the smile that greets the implied threat has him reconsidering that stance. Immediately. 

"Hoping you _won't_ be, actually." She's beaming. "Come along, Severus, we have much to... discuss." And then the cheeky thing leads him back to his chambers. Grinning. Ear to ear. 

Severus rather unexpectedly finds himself not minding in the least.  
  


"Baron," Minerva calls and the Baron fades into view a moment later. 

"You called, Headmistress?"

"I believe it's past time you spoke to the Grey Lady and cleared the air." Her tone is gentler now, and she's just done what few can: surprised him. 

" _Headmistress_??" His shock is apparent. 

"It's getting late, and I shouldn't like to keep Rolanda waiting much longer, but after everything you've done for the others tonight, I think someone should see to you, too. I'm willing to mediate."

"I..." He stops. He doesn't discuss the Grey Lady with others. He doesn't even _mention_ her. 

"It's in the spirit of Christmas, after all." 

He hasn't the foggiest notion how the Headmistress knows... Instead he tries to proclaim his innocence, "What _I_ did for others?"

"As Headmistress, I don't miss too much, you know. And I did happen to see Peeves in the Gryffindor dorms when glancing at the Map in chambers earlier, and I know _perfectly well_ who has been shifting the Mistletoe all over the castle."

"Then why did you..."

"I believe there are three couples and possibly two witches who will be better off for the events of the evening. I'm not without understanding for the young man's situation, but an excess of tolerance hasn't helped it any and has merely permitted him to pursue his own diversions. As you seem to have recognised, at the expense of several others' happiness. Your solution had an elegance to it I could admire. And you'll note he isn't expelled."

"But the detentions..."

"May give him time to refocus and possibly a more healthy form of distraction. One that _doesn't_ injure innocent parties in the process. 

"Now if some time in the near future, you could perhaps whisper a word in Miss Brown's ear that wizards like Mr. Thomas have a commendable grasp of how to _properly_ treat a witch... And perhaps mention to Miss Robbins that Mr. Coote shares her passion for Quidditch... I'd be much obliged."  
  


And that's the last Peeves hears as the two disappear down the corridor towards the Ravenclaws' tower.

  


**Author's Note:**

> This story was written with much love for MyWitch and grooot, two of the nicest ladies in the community. Thank you for all you do. Happy hols. <3
> 
> * * *
> 
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> 
> **2019 July 25** I keep meaning to do this and keep forgetting... There are now more stories in this AU. You can find them here: https://christmasspirit.livejournal.com/ (Currently 'lucius' zebras' and 'lavender's (eighth) first day of school') They aren't in chronological order, nor are they really meant to be read in chronological order. (Sometimes it's nice to mix it up.) But, hey, they've got dates on 'em and you *could*, if you wanted. They can also all be read on their own as one shots. Ah! And some stuff of mine of a similar tone can be found here: https://gingerbredshaus.livejournal.com/ like 'milestone' (Severus retires from Hogwarts) and the 'tea drabbles' (which aren't Drabbles, lol) and then I got wild and actually wrote some honest to gosh Drabbles, because why not?
> 
> smooches - G.


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